


Golden Days

by Skiyye



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skiyye/pseuds/Skiyye
Summary: After six long years of silence from Edward Elric, Roy Mustang seeks him out for some much needed closure. However, in that time, tension has been building and questions have been left unanswered, and the pair must embark on a voyage across borders in order to escape their reality and find the truth.





	1. In Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I'm very excited to share my debut Archive of our Own work with you guys! I'm super pumped to immerse myself, and you, in my take on the Fullmetal Alchemist universe beyond Amestris' borders. Golden Days is a slowly developed romance in the midst of an adventure, coupled with a conspiracy and espionage. I hope you enjoy! (I do appreciate feedback even if I seem salty when receiving it) This will go on for many chapters, so join me for the long run!

  


### Chapter One

_In Pursuit_   


 

“Down with the military state! We want democracy! Down with the state!” The writhing crowd chanted, a mere handful of voices lost among the daily occurrences of the busy East City street as people milled about, seemingly unfazed by the protesters. One of the growingly passionate members of the party grabbed a passing pedestrian by the shoulder, yanking her around to face him.  
“Do you not care about your rights? Your values being reflected in our government?” He screeched into her startled face. His grip tightened as she tried to twist out of his reach, continuing to hurl mantras and shaking her. “Sir! That is enough!” An aggravated yet diplomatic voice chided as a soldier materialized from the mass and placed a firm hand on the protester’s arm. This caused him to hesitantly free the frightened woman from his grasp and turn to his adversary, yelling;  
“one of you military dogs! You’re just afraid of losing power, aren’t you? How dare you show yourself here!” before throwing himself towards the uniform. This change in mood created a stir within the demonstration. Tension was increasing and it would not be long before they lashed out with aggression, transforming the once peaceful protest into a full scale riot.  
“Back off!” The soldier roared as he drew his hand up in a sweeping motion. A brief second of shocked silence followed, the demonstrators stumbling back as they fully understood their circumstances, then a snap cemented their fears and the air filled with fire.

“I suspect you are aware of the protests in East City?”  
“Yes, Führer Grumman, sir.”  
The older man shifted his attention from the map of Amestris on the wall to his subordinate who stood at attention before the door to his office. “I also heard that you volunteered to be my eyes and ears on the ground out there, provide some “crowd control” so to speak- any reason behind your enthusiasm?”  
“Well sir, I was stationed at the East command centre for some time, and have many connections in the area.”  
The Führer gave a knowing chuckle as he took a moment to polish his spectacles with a handkerchief he had procured from his breast pocket. “And I don’t know of any soldier more capable,” he grinned, “you are hereby ordered to moderate the demonstrations in East City, General Roy Mustang.”

When the flames subsided all that was left were the nervous demonstrators, wearily eying the line of scorched cobblestone paces from them. Roy heaved a shuddering breath as he turned on his heels. Flicking the collar of his jacket up against the wind, he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets and strode away, back the way he came. The disheartened democrats wandered around in a disjointed manner before giving up entirely, swallowed up by the city.  
The late fall air, sharpened by the smell of singed earth, was brisk and fresh from recent rain. Dusk was approaching, the street awash with the oranges and whites of passing cars and of a lamp post which flickered above. Roy caught himself staring at a passerby across the street, his blond hair flattened beneath a black cap reminding him of someone from long ago. He hadn’t heard from Edward Elric since the Promised Day, a historical event of such massive significance that Ed’s key role earned him several prominent decorations. The bastard hadn't even bothered to attend the ceremony- just like him to avoid such trivial things. That fateful day, one that had turned reality on its back and nearly annihilated Amestris, transpired six years prior. The last reported account of the Elric brothers was when Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong admitted them into the hospital; Edward with a flesh and blood right arm, and a skeleton of a boy, said to be Alphonse’s true form. Roy recounted the pride he had felt when he heard the brothers had accomplished the goal they had put before everything else, but a creeping premonition made its home in his head. Nothing was ever perfect; happy endings were unattainable. That was the principle of equivalent exchange: you must present something of equal value in order to gain something. Their success may have also been their demise in some unseeable way.  
“Ah fuck,” Mustang cursed as he planted one of his freshly polished boots into a puddle. _You’re useless on rainy days_. He strode into the command centre, pausing only to salute two passing privates along the way. _But even more so when you’re caught up in old memories_. Making quick time in rounding up the little belongings he had brought, the General took a moment in the barracks to change into civilian clothes. The stripes and pips on his shoulder would not matter where he was going.  
“8 o’clock departure…” He verified, glancing down at the ticket he had bought earlier that day. A sort of heaviness weighed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe, that same premonition churning in his gut. Roy was going south.  
To Resembool.

“The chief is going to see Ed?” Jean Havoc looked up in surprise at his superior officer. He was leaning his chair back precariously with his legs up and crossed on the desk and his hands in a nonchalant way behind his head. Riza nodded sagely, “I believe that’s why he asked to go down East to begin with.”  
Havoc made a protesting grunt, mumbling something about Mustang just rolling over for the brass for a promotion.  
Chuckling, Riza made her way across the room towards the General’s desk, noting old case files spewed across its surface. “He had been asking more and more about Edward’s whereabouts,” she explained. “Six years of silence is an awful long time.”  
“Well why hasn’t he just tried calling, or visiting before now?”  
Hawkeye ran her fingers over one of the documents concerning the Leore uprisings. “I think he has always felt guilty about recruiting Ed, keeping him on a leash. He didn't want to impede on his freedom.”

A long blast of a horn signified the impending departure of the last train bound for Resembool for the week. The smell of oil and incinerating coal came in puffs of steam from the train’s furnace, burning the nostrils and causing eyes to water. Hoards of locals and travellers fumbled around in a constant state of stress. A merchant cried his wares from behind a wheeled wooden cart selling tacky trinkets.  
“Excuse me, yes pardon me ma’am- move!” Mustang ran alongside the sleeping beast, dodging stragglers and street urchins, holding down his hat as not to let it blow off and counting down the cars until he had reached his.  
“Thank you sir, enjoy your trip!” Squeaked an attendant in a white cap as Roy took back his ticket stub and boarded. “Last call for travellers going southeast, terminus Resembool!” Mustang heard as he stepped into the passenger car. He pulled his hat down over his eyes in some sort of instinctual reflex, noting instantly the car’s four exits and that only ten other people occupied it. Roy was not very popular among the higher ups in the military- he was cocky and he knew when a promotion was in order. His ambition intimidated his peers. He had climbed the hierarchy faster than any other before him and he was undeserving, they believed. It would be just like one of them to send someone after him in a situation such as this. However, in this dimly lit carriage with his felt hat tipped over his eyes and a long black trench coat in place of his uniform, Roy remained anonymous- just another dark haired Amestrian man on a train. It gave one final parting wail as the engine screeched into motion and the wheels sparked against the rails, steel on steel. Mustang heaved a sigh and settled back against the rigid seat with his hands behind his head. It would be a long trip, and he would need all the rest he could muster to face tomorrow.

“Bound southeast, you say?”  
“Y-yes, that black haired man got on the 8 o'clock train, final destination Resembool!” The white capped attendant stuttered, eyes clouded with a mix of confusion and terror, fearful that he would soon be in the centre of something much bigger than him. The strange hooded individual released the snivelling city worker from their clasp and jammed the polaroid portrait of Mustang back into their pocket. “That was the last train of the week sir,” the attendant piped bravely, “the next isn't until Monday!”  
Seething with frustration, the figure gave him one last glare that smothered any confidence that remained before melting back into the throng.  
The attendant stood there for a moment longer before snapping out of his stupor. He ran towards the phone booths located near the main entrance to the East City station. Dialling with practiced ease, the line rang twice and the other side picked up. “Hello, yes? We’ve got a problem. Yes. With the pony.”


	2. Home

### Chapter Two

_Home_

 

"Final stop, Resembool!" A station worker hollered from the platform below. It was a rural, desolate thing, made up by a roof structure of cracking green paint and two rusty signs marking the platforms’ numbers dangling precariously from worn chains. A meandering southern breeze crossed the plains, rustling the long grasses as it went and blew through Roy’s hair as he stepped off the car. The air was crisp with the scent of farmers burning their fields. He paused to admire the countryside. Great rolling hills as far as the eye could see, their grass paled by the season. A single tree stood sentry to his right, tall and limber with foliage of red and gold.

“Ah, home at last,” yawned the middle aged man who had descended from the train before Roy. He stretched out his back and his arms above his head, calling to his friends, “the benches sure are hell on the joints, aye?” Mustang allowed himself a slight smile as the locals’ gruff voices rose in laughter.

“You ain’t that old, Reinhart! Maybe some of the strong stuff will loosen you up!” Roy found himself following the party to a small pub just beside the station, a rickety thing a little worse for wear with a weather faded sign above the door that read “Tavern”. Upon entering, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the ill-lighted room. After a series of prolonged blinks he could make out a handful of round tables and a well stocked bar manned by a younger gentleman who was polishing glassware. The only light source in the damned place were two gas sconces mounted on either end on the room, casting inhuman shadows against the walls. The Resemboolers took their places at the bar, five stools filled with two to spare. Roy sat himself beside the wall, a space in between them. The idea of “some of the strong stuff” to loosen him up had been hard to pass down, as his nerves had had him jittery all morning.

“So, Henry! What’s the news?” One of the men demanded the bartender good naturedly. Henry leaned forward and looked around in mock secrecy and stage whispered:

“he finally did it!”

“Henry I’m going to need some context!” He countered as the others roared in laughter.

“Ed! He finally did it!” Roy tensed, senses on high alert. His hand tightened around his snifter of brandy and it took all of his willpower not to appear affected. Taking great interest in his drink, Mustang listened on.

“You mean Elric finally proposed?” shouted another.

“Yes, just last week! To Ms. Winry!” The men all hooted in surprise. “Didn't think he had the guts, that little fella!” Mustang started. That was not what he was expecting. He lessened his grip around the glass and smirked to himself. Roy had been troubling himself over nothing. A sudden feeling of well being, one that he hadn't felt in a long time, washed over him. He was genuinely happy for Edward. The General hadn't realized until now how concerned he was for the Elrics and that it had been gnawing away at his conscious for years. He toasted Ed to himself and took a long swig of the golden liquor.

“Edward’s a lucky man!” A taller man guffawed. Several whistles erupted from the party. “Have you seen that pretty young thing? I'm impressed he could hold himself back this long, hot piece of ass like that!”

Roy slammed his empty glass down. The men looked over sharply, an uncomfortable silence filling the room. His mouth twitched in annoyance. “Well I suppose a congratulations is in order,” he announced. The metallic sound of coins broke the uneasy quiet as he threw some cen down onto the bar. He stood up. Roy took his time pulling his hat back over his hair and fixing the men with a terrifying look of scorn. He flicked his collar up briskly, turned abruptly on his heels and walked calmly out the door.

“Holy shit that guy is scary,” Roy heard as he shut it behind him, chuckling to himself.

The half hour long walk down the dirt road went without incident. Mustang could not help but recall the last time he set foot here, about a decade ago, doing some scouting at the reports of two talented young alchemists living here among the pastures and farming land of Resembool. Coming across the product of the brothers’ attempt at human transmutation had been a shock to say the least, but in that moment Roy knew that he had not just discovered mere prodigies. The Elrics possessed the strongest souls he had ever known and a bond forged through countless experiences that no one else could ever compete with. The thought that they always had each other was a consolation back in the days when they sought out trouble wherever they went. Mustang stood before the Rockbell house. Its white paint was in need of a new coat, stairs worn and scuffed, and the automail sign hung haphazardly over the bannister. Pausing at the base of the staircase to the porch, his gut wrenched. For a man who has fought in wars this is pathetic, he thought lamely. Mustang wasn't sure why he was so anxious- was it the prospect of seeing Edward as a shell of his former self, or did the idea that he could be content with his circumstances terrify him even more? Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist: a young man who had stared death in the face countless times, who would fight to the ends of the Earth for what he believed in, could not possibly be satisfied by such a mundane lifestyle. Roy shook his head roughly, clearing his mind, before putting on a smirk and ascending towards the door. Three solid knocks. He stepped back and took a deep breath. The door swung open. An agitated voice hissed “what do you want n-”

“Fullmetal.” Roy blurted. Staring back at him was undoubtedly the same person from six years ago, his blond hair tied up in a ponytail in place of the trademark braid. His height had increased greatly, as their eyes now met without Roy needing to crane his neck. Jaw squared and shoulders broadened, Ed was no longer the snarky teen Mustang knew. His face seemed weathered beyond its years and an unpleasant, blotchy bruise on his left eye took up most of it. Edward’s eyes widened, an overwhelming combination of emotions travelling through them: surprise, then anguish, coupled with anger, followed by relief, only to be glassed over by a veil of annoyance as he composed himself after a brief moment.

“Colonel, what are you doing here?!” Ed demanded, his disdain towards authority as evident as ever.

“That’s General Mustang to you,” Roy retorted arrogantly without delay.

Edward raised an eyebrow, “general, aye? Congrats,” he mumbled flatly.

Mustang grinned and pointed at his own eye. “Still up to no good, aye Fullmetal?”

Ed appeared uneasy at the General’s comment, quickly covering the injury with a hand and laughing sheepishly. “I'm not very well suited to home repairs,” he explained.

“Since when has the Fullmetal Alchemist needed to be hands-on for repairing anything?” Roy chuckled, aghast. When Ed’s golden gaze began to smolder Mustang knew he had said something wrong. A tense silence stood between them.

“You bastard. I can't-” the other began to growl.

“Edward, who is it?” joined a third, her singsong voice bright. Winry appeared at Ed’s side and when her eyes fell on Roy they lit up. “Colonel Mustang! What a surprise!”

“Actually he’s a general now-”

“Edward why haven’t you invited him in?” She chided, “silly man! Please come in sir!” A strange look stirred on Ed’s face as he scooted to the side to allow Roy to enter. He stayed by the door for some time before following his fiancée and guest into the house.

“Pass the salt, would you Ed?”” Winry chimed. They sat around the dining table, a feast laid out before them.

“You’re too kind Miss Rockbell, this is delicious,” Roy declared graciously.

Winry hummed in acknowledgment, “My grandmother always taught me to treat guests,” she smiled. “Not eating, Ed?”

Mustang’s good humour faltered when he noticed the other man had not touched his plate.

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” Edward laughed lightly, “I had a lot to eat for lunch so-”

A knot formed in Roy’s throat.

“Did you tell him the good news?” Winry interrupted, her voice tinged with annoyance.

“Tell him what, Winry?” Ed spat, pushing his potatoes around with a fork.

“That we're engaged!” He froze, staring down at his plate. Edward turned his unreadable face up to meet Roy's, a great big smile plastered across it.

“Oh, how could I forget! It must have been the shock of your arrival. I proposed to Winry last week!” He boasted between his teeth.

“Oh Ed, it's been much longer than a week now. You proposed almost a month back!” His fiancée corrected. Roy didn't like her patronizing tone.

Edward opened his mouth as if ready to fire back but closed it again into a tight grin. “How the days just slip by,” he replied, appearing stunned.

Winry let out a sigh and turned her attention towards Mustang who had been observing in critical silence. “This guy has been so mopey ever since he lost the ability to perform alchemy!” Ed’s smile dropped and an unbelievable look of hurt crossed his face.

Breath hitching in his throat, Roy felt his heart lurch to a stop. “Fullmetal, what does she mean you can’t perform alchemy anymore-” The former alchemist stood up, his chair toppling over at the sudden movement. His downturned face was hidden by his unkempt bangs as he swiftly left the room without another word. “Fullmet- Ed!”

Roy made a move to follow but Winry placed a gentle hand over his and shook her head solemnly. “Nothing you can say will differ from what he's thought and heard these past six years,” she insisted, and Mustang grudgingly settled back into his chair. He stared across the room at the arch in which Edward had disappeared through.

“How did this happen?” Roy wondered softly, half to himself.

“I suppose it's what you alchemists call ‘equivalent exchange’, is it not? In order to return Al to his body, Ed gave up his alchemy.”

Feeling ill, Mustang drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes. _It’s just as I feared._

“Personally, I feel better knowing Edward is not going to run off into trouble now. I like him where I can see him.”

_He gave up the passion which he held so dear._

“And ever since my granny died, well it's been so lonely. I don't like him sauntering off.”

_I couldn't help them._

 

“Hehe, alright Julia, yes I will see you tonight. Yes. I'm sorry to hear about your sick pony. Yes. Alright, bye now.” Havoc hung up the phone quickly, his flirty grin gone in a heartbeat. Looking over at Hawkeye, whose interest had been piqued, his eyes met hers.

“We've got company.”


	3. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie it's been a while since the last chapter! Here we go again (((:

### Chapter Three

_Encounter_

 

With a gut wrenching heave the coach pulled out from a stop. A gap between the loading doors let in little light- the occasional brilliant flash of cities and towns ripping by cast chaotic shadows over the crates stacked within the cargo hold. A lone passenger occupied it; a stowaway no doubt. The train was of military use, a great long thing screeching along in the moonless night, the only other living beings a dozen cars up shoveling coal into a ravenous furnace. It was due for Ishval: reconciliation efforts filled the cars to the brim with construction materials to rebuild their homeland to its former glory. Amestrian military emblems stamped across each box were meant to remind those who opened them of the newfound friendship between state and Ishvalans. The treaty had been signed by Führer Grumman two years prior after vigorous peacemaking operations and conferences. The Amestrian leader grudgingly accepted his role as the face of the agreement whilst it had been General Mustang pulling the strings. He had been chasing rapprochement with Ishval ever since the war, which provided him with an undying drive to move up its ranks. The train rattled incessantly against the tracks. The rider pulled their hood over their head and their legs tightly against themself, breath steaming in the chilled air. Rolling hills and flickering oil lamps broached the horizon as the train approached Resembool.

“Edward, come here!” Roy overheard Winry hissing. The dinner had come to an abrupt end hours ago- she insisted the General stay the night, or two, as ‘he had travelled all this way to visit, afterall.’ The crack beneath the door to the guestroom let the dying light of a lamp ebb in from the hallway. Ed’s strange composure and the odd interactions over the dining table had Roy’s mind racing as he laid restless, staring up at the ceiling. Intermittent murmurs came from the room next door, silences filled with the creaking of worn floorboards and of drawers opening and closing. Just as Mustang began to drift off, a yell erupted from his hosts’ room. His heart leapt out of his chest at the sound of something shattering.

Wind whistling through the cracks and hinges of the train, it chugged on, unperturbed by its extra passenger. A hollow, metallic crunch of feet dropping onto the top of the carriage caused said passenger to peer towards the source of the interruption, their reaction calm and calculated: they were expecting this. Heaving a sigh and rising to their feet, the cloaked stowaway braced themself for an unpleasant encounter.

After little contemplation, Roy rose from bed. Already uneasy from the evening’s occurrences, he made it to his door just as Winry appeared in the hallway, seeming flustered and slightly embarrassed.

“Is everything alright?” the General inquired, voice thick with concern.

“Oh! Yes- I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, you see Ed broke a vase! You… you know how he gets sometimes.” At that the young woman rushed off down the darkened hallway in search of a broom, calling, “don't mind him, just get some sleep!”

Roy swallowed nervously and blearily blinked the sleep from his eyes as he walked carefully through the door in which the blonde had just exited. Looking back, he realized how odd his actions were, how strange it was that he would encroach on private matters such as this; nevertheless in the moment Roy felt it the right thing to do. His preoccupation with Fullmetal was a second nature at this point- the man was always seeking to disturb the peace- some things never change. Ed was kneeling on a red carpet before the scattered remains of a ceramic pot, his hair loose and tangled around his shoulders. In that moment he seemed the very picture of loneliness: once the epitome of fierce optimism, he was simply… drained.

“Anything I can do?” Roy asked softly. Startled by the general’s presence, the former alchemist glanced up suddenly. Mustang did not fail to notice the pain in his tawny eyes that he attempted to hide by taking great interest in the shards of glazed clay at his knees. Reaching up to scratch the back of his head, Edward smirked guiltily.

“It's my fault,” his laugh was lilting, “don't worry about it Mustang.”

A lump formed in Roy’s throat as he watched Ed carry on with scraping the pieces out of the woven wool of the carpet.

_Was the cut on his cheek there before?_

The train jerked into a turn, piercing the night with the grinding of metal on metal. Thrown, the stowaway careened sideways into some crates. Several loud footsteps hammering on the car’s roof ensued, followed by the newcomer swinging into the car, landing sloppily. Letting out a breath, they began to look about, their brief surveillance of the mal lit train carriage cut short by the cold steel of a gun pressed up against the back of their hooded head.

“What is your business with Roy Mustang?” the stowaway demanded, not so much a question as an order. Her voice was as cool and hard as the arm she beared. Breath haggard, the bigger of the two hidden figures drew their arms up in submission, mumbling incoherently into their robes. The stowaway instinctively leaned in to hear the other’s deep voice, eyes glinting in the dark.

“Repeat that-” Her opponent ducked out of her reach, coming out of a squat with a sweeping roundhouse kick. With cat-like reflexes she bent her legs into a tuck jump, just as the assailant hailed back with another swing- a right hook, easily countered by a block with the left arm and a boot planted in the sternum. Stumbling back, the newcomer caught himself and tried for an uppercut, but the smaller and nimbler of the two leaned out and tilted her head back a mere instant before impact- close call. A flash of blond hair caught in the light as her hood fell. In frustration the losing side drew a gun from beneath his garb only to have it stomped from his grasp. Grabbing his hand in pain, he crouched down, feeling for his fallen pistol.

There-!

The stowaway cocked her revolver, towering above the newcomer who found himself staring directly into the barrel of a gun.

“Drop it,” she commanded. Not until now did the man fully realize the strength of the person he was up against: the unwavering, firm aim and piercing gaze should have given it away. She was the all-seeing eye. The one who never missed. The woman glaring down at him was Riza Hawkeye.


End file.
